


one day;

by kinneyb



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Geralt had a secret. One he had no interest in telling anyone. Ever.He adored Jaskier’s singing -- or, well, more accurately he adored his voice. Because it didn’t matter what he was singing about, Geralt always found himself listening.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 532





	one day;

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a short fic i wrote for tumblr (btw u can /always/ send me requests on tumblr) but i thought id share it with u guys too <3 hope u enjoy
> 
> twitter: queermight  
> tumblr: korrmin

Geralt had a secret. One he had no interest in telling anyone. _Ever_.

He adored Jaskier’s singing -- or, well, more accurately he adored his _voice_. Because it didn’t matter what he was singing about, Geralt always found himself listening. Sometimes he even wanted to join in --

Not _sing_ , exactly, he wasn’t a singer, but at least hum to the tune, tap his foot.

(He never did.)

Thankfully, it wasn’t like he was lacking in content. Jaskier sang like he breathed, _constantly_. On their travels --

_Jaskier walked down the path, a few feet ahead of them, strumming his lute._

_Geralt watched him, silent, as he started to sing before stopping, shaking his head almost violently. He squared his shoulders and started again, obviously pleased with his performance this time despite his only audience being Geralt and Roach._

_Geralt smiled, just the smallest hint of a thing, and drummed his fingers against the side of Roach’s neck._

_At least she would never tell on him._

In taverns --

_Jaskier spun around the room and sang with a big grin. He winked at a woman, and she swooned._

_Coins were being tossed at his feet and Geralt almost joined in before realizing --_

_Right, that’d be fucking pointless and fucking weird._

_So he simply sat back and listened, watching as Jaskier thrived in his element._

Even when they bathed in streams. (That might’ve been Geralt’s favorite time to hear him.)

_Jaskier was washing his hair, scrubbing at his scalp with his fingernails. “We should invest in some actual soap,” he said with a pout._

_Geralt snorted, his only reply, and the bard sighed in deep disappointment._

_“You are the worst,” he grumbled before he started to hum._

_Geralt looked over at him. His eyes were closed, his lips only slightly parted, the sun shining on his face._

_He started to sing after a moment and Geralt watched, his own private show._

But then, one day, he suddenly stopped entirely.

Geralt was worried, of course, but he was also secretly disappointed. He _wanted_ to ask, he even _tried_ \--

_They were at a tavern and Jaskier kept staring at the bard playing, some young fellow with red hair._

_Geralt opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue:_

_What happened, Jaskier?_

_But then their waitress had returned with two more ales and the moment had passed like a hurricane, quick and unforgiving._

_Jaskier had turned away from the bard and smiled brightly at Geralt, like nothing was wrong. He couldn’t find the words again after that._

Two days, three days, it wasn’t until a week had passed that Geralt decided he had to do _something_.

Jaskier wasn’t playing, he wasn’t singing. It was no longer just about him.

So, one night, while they were hurdled up in a dusty little inn, Geralt decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He sat on the bed where Jaskier was scribbling something on parchment with ink.

“ _What?_ ” he asked, a bit snappy, and okay -- 

Jaskier wasn’t usually so moody. Something must’ve really been wrong.

“I was just...” he started, but he never had been very good with words.

Jaskier looked up. He placed his quill down, the ink smudging on the parchment. “What is it, Geralt?” he asked, sounding tired beyond his years.

Geralt frowned. “Are you okay?”

That seemed to get a proper reaction out of Jaskier -- he blinked, once. “What?”

“You’ve been...” his eyes flickered down to the parchment; Jaskier had been working on lyrics. That was a good sign, right? But he’d inked out most of them. “You haven’t been singing very much.”

He looked back up. Jaskier was staring at him oddly.

“What?” he asked gruffly.

Jaskier smiled, just the barest hint of teeth. “I... I don’t know,” he said, reaching for the ink. He properly closed it, putting it on the stand by the bed. “I didn’t think you’d realize or -- well, _care_ , frankly.”

Geralt’s heart jumped in his chest. _Tell him, tell him._

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I did.”

Jaskier nodded, biting his bottom lip, and Geralt felt like he was looking right through him. He had a way of doing that.

“ _So?_ ” he prompted, a little impatient. “Why haven’t you been playing or singing?”

Jaskier smiled again. “It’s no big deal, Geralt,” he said, soft. “I’ve just been going through a... you know, _a dry spell_.” He gestured aimlessly. “You know, no inspiration.”

Geralt nodded. He didn’t fully understand, but that wasn’t surprising. He’d never been an artsy person. “When will you be able to play again?”

He said _play_ but he meant _sing_.

The lute was nice and all, and Jaskier _was_ very talented at it, but that was never what really caught Geralt’s attention or his adoring fans. (He didn’t _know_ that last part, but he assumed it was the same for them - how could it not be?)

“If I _knew_ , Geralt,” he said in mild amusement, “this whole thing would be a lot easier.”

Geralt nodded, feeling foolish. Jaskier stretched out, kicking him with his foot.

“Why are you even asking me about this?”

Geralt opened his mouth, the truth on the tip of his tongue:

_I love your voice, I listen when you think I’m not, I want to always hear you._

He couldn’t say any of it. Jaskier sighed, looking away. "I’ll start earning my keep again soon,” he said tersely, and oh --

_Fuck_.

“Jaskier, that’s not -- “

He turned his head, fire in his eyes. Fuck, this was not what he wanted. “ _Isn’t_ it?”

“It isn’t,” he said, fast.

Jaskier seemed genuinely taken back. He stared at Geralt. “I’m... not understanding,” he said slowly. “If it’s not about that... I mean,” he laughed, a bit harsh. “I thought you hated my singing.”

Geralt’s stomach lurched because he already knew what Jaskier was going to say.

“Like a pie with no filling, right?” he asked, smiling ruefully.

Geralt visibly winced, and he wondered if Jaskier knew why. From the look on his face, he did not. _Words, Geralt, use your fucking words._

“I lied,” he said.

Jaskier blinked. “Geralt, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I -- “ he paused, taking a deep breath. “I don’t actually think that.”

Jaskier’s eyes brightened, just the tiniest bit. He sat up straighter. “You don’t?”

“No,” he said. He wanted to tell him the rest:

_Your voice is my favorite sound in the world. I could listen to you sing forever.  
_

He didn’t. Baby steps.

Jaskier chewed on his bottom lip. Geralt waited, feeling like he was drowning.

“Okay,” Jaskier said, looking down. He smiled. “Um. Okay.”

Geralt nodded and stood up. He hoped, one day, he could tell him the rest. But for now that was enough, judging by the look on Jaskier’s face. He reached for the ink and placed it on the parchment.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed. “Thanks.”

He nodded and left. The next morning, Jaskier performed at breakfast. He sung a retelling of one of Geralt’s adventures with bright eyes.

Coins were thrown at his feet, dozens of them.

He didn’t seem interested in them. He was too busy staring at Geralt.

Geralt smiled, just barely, and Jaskier smiled back. _One day._

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoy my fics and perhaps want to help me keep writing, please check out the link below:
> 
> https://korrmin.tumblr.com/writing


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